Hellen sat across from me, her tall frame perched with that effortless alpha grace on the high stool, navy cashmere sweater soft-draped over slim trousers in charcoal wool, ice-blue eyes sharp and expectant under the blonde chignon that caught the late afternoon light slanting through bay windows.
Argh, I was really jealous of her style. I mean, she looks much sharper than me. I mean, I looked sharp too, but I am nothing compared to her.
The city felt worlds away now, gravel drive crunching faint outside as her limo had pulled up right on time.
Coffee steamed fresh between us—jasmine notes wafting homey from my morning brew stash—next to a tray of pancakes.
My raven hair sat pulled up in a loose, messy bun, a few dark strands escaping to frame my face softly, while I lounged comfy in an oversized white button-up shirt that draped loose over my body—sleeves rolled casual to my elbows—and a simple green skirt that hugged my hips just enough before flaring free mid-thigh.
I flashed her a bright, genuine smile—the barista one that melted grumpy regulars into big tippers back in the day—and she nodded back, her lips quirking in faint approval.
"So, what's the plan, Emily?" Her voice sliced clean and smooth, no room for fluff, manicured fingers tracing slow circles around her coffee mug's rim as she leaned forward just a touch.
My smile stretched wider, eyes sparking with that inner thrill as I sat up straighter, heart pounding steady like a drumbeat calling me to battle.
This was the moment—my string of idiot choices into something unique. "I've got a three-step plan. I promise that it will be total changer! You won't regret it!" Truthfully, I knew nothing about business. So, I was really nervous. Unlike fashion, my expertise on business isn't up to the par.
Hellen's brow lifted sharp, intrigued, mirroring my lean with her own subtle shift. "A three-step plan? What are you planning, Emily?"
I nodded fast, my grin turning playful-conspiratorial, a loose strand of hair tickling my cheek. "Yes. But first—I have to ask a favour. Will you help me?"
Her head tilted gracefully. She said, "Of course, Emily. Name it—what do you need me to do?"
"I need help hauling my portable whiteboard down from the storeroom." I jump off the chair smooth and quick, the green skirt swishing soft against my thighs.
◆◇◆◇◆◆◇◆◇◆◆◇◆◇◆◆◇◆◇◆
Emily balanced precariously on the low storeroom stool they'd dragged from the corner, her raven hair bun loosening with every desperate stretch, dark strands sticking damp to her neck in the cool, musty basement air thick with cedar and old fabric scents.
The oversized white button-up shirt hung loose and rumpled over her full curves, sleeves rolled haphazardly to her elbows, while her green skirt flared mid-thigh, riding up scandalously.
"It will take some seconds," said Emily. She pushed onto tiptoes, fingers straining for the whiteboard's tilted frame jammed high against the sagging metal storeroom shelf lined with dust-caked boxes.
Dust motes swirled lazy in the harsh glow of the single hanging bulb, casting long shadows, shelves groaning under swatches faded and tools rusted faint.
'Alpha' pride burned hot in Emily's chest—no way would she back down now, heart still racing from the adrenaline, petite frame determined despite the wobble threatening her balance.
"Emily, get down from there," Hellen warned, her voice low and edged with firm concern from her position by the cluttered shelves, eyes locked upward with a mix of exasperation and genuine worry flickering beneath the composure.
"No, Hellen! I can do it!"
"Emily, don't be impulsive." She stepped closer quick, one hand outstretched ready to steady, her blonde chignon remaining impeccably smooth even amid the dusty nook's grit clinging to her polished heels. "Let me grab it—I've got the height for this."
Emily flashed a stubborn grin down at her, eyes defiant and sparkling despite the precarious wobble of the stool. "Hellen, I'm an alpha too. Least I can do after you hauled it down here with me."
Her tiptoes stretched to the max, green skirt hiking higher on thighs, the oversized shirt gaping loose at the collar to bare a flushed sliver of collarbone, petite muscles burning taut under cotton as she hooked fingertips trembling on the board's lower edge—nearly there, victory inches away.
Then catastrophe struck without mercy—the stool's leg snagged vicious on a loose-rolled fabric bolt half-unravelled on the gritty concrete floor, her ankle rolling outward in a vicious fire-lance of pain that shot white-hot up her leg.
The world lurched sideways in a blur of shadows and dust.
"Whaa!"
'FUCK!'
Emily's eyes slammed shut tight, body bracing instinctive for the brutal slam—cold, unforgiving concrete rushing up to meet her spine and skull, the whiteboard poised to crash doom alongside.
A heavy thud boomed first as the board hit the floor crooked, its tripod wheels skittering wild and chaotic across the uneven concrete pitted with cracks and scattered marker caps.
But impact on her own body never came. Powerful arms scooped her mid-fall with precision, catching her bridal-secure and pulling her flush against a warm, solid chest—Hellen's navy cashmere yielding impossibly soft under Emily's cheek, the faint scent of clean linen laced with citrus enveloping her like an unbreakable safety net amid the storeroom disarray.
Emily's eyes peeled open slow and dazed, blinking up through the haze of pain and adrenaline into Hellen's strained glare—ice-blue fierce but softened at the edges with unmistakable worry, jaw clenched tight as her biceps bulged visibly under the sweater's sleeve holding Emily's weight effortless and steady.
"Hellen..."
Emily's legs dangled limp—one ankle good and flexing faint, the other swelling hot and angry already with a purple bloom creeping under skin.
"I told you I should've handled it. But you didn't listen, did you?" Hellen scolded, her voice gravel-rough with lingering strain but arms cradling impossibly gentle around Emily's petite form, not a single quiver betraying the effort as dust from the fall smudged faint across her sleeve and trouser cuff.
"Sorry, Hellen..." Emily murmured, pain throbbing sharp and insistent now like a hammer on her ankle, tears pricking hot at the corners of her emerald eyes traitorously—ego bruised deeper than the twist. "Just... put me down. I can limp it off, promise."
Hellen cinched her hold tighter instead of releasing, one broad palm firm and secure under Emily's thighs, the other splayed wide and protective across her back pulling her closer—Emily compressed warm against the cashmere, hips nestled snug and secure in the cradle, their breaths mingling hot inches apart in the dusty air.
"No chance, Emily. That ankle's twisted bad—swelling like a balloon already. No weight on it, not even for a second," scowled Hellen.
"But—" Emily protested weak, her cheeks flaming crimson as the closeness sank in fully—Hellen's full lips set serious so near she could trace their shape, warm exhale ghosting soft across her temple sending shivers unrelated to pain, body heat seeping insistent through thin cotton shirt and skirt like an electric current prickling every nerve.
'Why is she so cool?'
"No buts," Hellen cut in, her tone pure alpha command but softened velvet at the edges with care. "Your plan is on hold till you're patched. Ice, spray, rest first. Deal?"
Emily shivered slightly when she heard Hellen's tone. But after some seconds, she nodded her head.
"Fine."
"Good."
Hellen shifted her stance careful and measured toward the storeroom door just a few feet away, Emily's good leg brushing teasing against Hellen's hip with the motion, faint dusk light filtering dim and golden through the tiny basement window high on the wall casting long shadows over the spilled chaos of markers rainbow-scattered and fabric bolts half-unrolled.
"Hellen, I'm heavy... just set me on a box or the stairs—"
Hellen dipped her head a fraction nearer in the shift—lips brushing Emily's ear feather-light accidental, sending a jolt straight down her spine? —her voice dropping husky-low and intimate. "You're not heavy at all, Emily. Even a dog will be heavier than you."
Crimson heat flooded Emily's face full-bloom, pulse skittering erratic wild in her ears. 'Why the hell am I blushing?!'
"Y-you're too close..." Emily breathed out shaky, her gaze flicking unbidden to Hellen's mouth parted slight, breath hitching shallow and ragged.
"Am I?" Hellen straightened slow and deliberate, a faint headshake amused flickering across her features, but her grip remained unyielding—cradling Emily like fragile treasure amid the storeroom's scattered chaos of whiteboard upright now on salvaged wheels and markers rainbow amid yellowed pads.
Twilight had deepened outside, darkening the single bulb's harsh glow spilling through the open door; shadows pooled long and inky over the fabric stacks slumped like weary sentinels. "Meds first—painkillers, ice spray. Where do you keep them?"